


d'une beauté envoutante

by the_charm_caster



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Horror, M/M, Mystery, Romance, why am i even doing this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_charm_caster/pseuds/the_charm_caster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr inherits the HellFire Manor from his late, estranged Uncle Shaw. He expects an old, elegant building, perhaps with Victorian furniture, yes? Not a ignorant  staff which seems undead. Not nightmares and illusions, screams that only he can hear, blood that only he can see. Not an empty building which reeks of shameless violence and undeserved guilt.<br/>Certainly not falling in love with the man with blue eyes, under the glass. Of course it is a statue. Erik appreciates art, and falling in love is not his cup of tea.<br/>...Till the night comes, when the eyes look back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired from [this](http://trobador.tumblr.com/post/68391857056/mystery-horror-romance-au-erik-inherits-the) tumblr prompt. I hope I've been able to write what y'all expected.  
> Loads of thanks to my dearest Rumcity, even though she says her grammar sucks. Thanks for going through my ideas, and _my_ grammar mistakes, yes.

_I always thought ‘haunting’ was a term used to define the supernatural. Something not for me. Never for me._

_That was, until I saw your eyes._

_The dictionary defines hauntingly (adv.) as something unforgettable. Continually recurring. Something which leaves a lingering impression on the mind._

_And now your lips haunt my dreams. And your untold story echoes in my ears. And my skin craves the untouched caresses that never touched my body, yet left a scalding impression on my soul._

 

_My hauntingly beautiful._

* * *

“Look, I know I’m not up to date with the current laws, but doesn’t something like this take at least a few years for the substantiation of absence to be factored in?” The man in his early thirties absently rubbed his free hand through his hair. The bold font on his platinum placard read ‘ _Erik Lehnsherr_ , _CEO’._

The setting sun threw long shadows in his empty office, without a single soul in sight.

“Yes, usually. But since the circumstances were so vivid and confirming, it can be easily concluded that your uncle is no longer alive. The waiting period has long passed since,” the voice replied back from the phone. Moira MacTaggart could be unyielding when she wanted to.

“And were he to come back?” Erik asked, eyes narrowing. He could feel an acute headache threatening to break free and he couldn’t risk that. He still needed to draft the prototype for the Walkers project, and he had two days to finalize the reports for the upcoming exclusivity contracts.

“A lot of paperwork. Among other things, that _you_ wouldn’t have to worry about,” his lawyer answered, clearly running out of patience. “Look, Mr. Lehnsherr, I’m sorry, but I really need to solve this issue so that I can start on with other cases. So should I book an appointment for the papers?”

“Moira,” Erik scrubbed a hand down his face, his tone getting lighter. “What the hell will I do with a mansion?”

“Live there and attract all sorts of women? And men, I don’t care.”

Erik rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Moira spoke up again.

“Erik, as a friend, can I ask you something?”

Erik nodded his head. Then remembering that he was on a telephone conversation, he sighed. Moira took that as his assent.

“When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“…Uh.”

“When was the last time you slept for at least six hours straight?”

“Look, I’ve been very busy for a few weeks and-”

“Right. Okay, forget that. When was the last time you made something new?”

“What are you saying? I’m the owner of one of the top companies of the country; we get a dozen projects every week!”

“No, Erik. Not business. When was the last time you invested time in architecture as a _hobby_?”

“I don’t-”

“Remember how you used to say that architecture was your passion? You love building and designing, and nothing, not even money, would come between you and your love? That you’d promise to make time to do what you love?”

“What’s your point, Moira?” Erik leaned back in his chair, giving up. Why did he ever think letting one of his friends from high school become his lawyer was a good idea?

“You need a break, is what my point is. Have you even seen the Westchester mansion, Erik? You’d love it, trust me. Much as Mr. Shaw has maintained it, it’s still an old building and needs work here and there. Why don’t you go there for a while, take a break from your schedule, redesign stuff, and when you’re done, by that time the legal timeframe would be over, so you could sell it. Or even keep it as a long term lease. Either way, it’s an asset for you and your company.”

Doctor Shaw. It was Dr, not Mr, but Erik didnt bother correcting Moira. He looked at the Newton’s cradle sitting and gathering dust on one of the shelves of the minimalist bookshelves of his office. He walked to it, taking his time, thinking. The silver balls reflected off a distorted image of him.

“You know I don’t want to take anything from that man,” he finally confessed.

“You’re not taking, he’s _giving_. Look, I don’t know what sort of relationship you had with your uncle, but his will states that his Westchester mansion would go to his nephew, Erik Lehnsherr, son of late Jakob Lehnsherr. It’s really beautiful Erik, and the artist in you will never forgive you if you were to give up on this piece without even taking a look.”

Erik’s eyes chased the distant clouds in the red sky. Like blood smudges on a velveteen plane, he thought absently.

“Fine,” he finally sighed into the receiver.

“Is that a yes then?”

“Sometimes I think you’re a shrink, not a lawyer.”

He pulled one of the metal balls, and set the Newton’s cradle in motion.

* * *

 

 

 

> **_Tragic accident claims the life of European Businessman_ **
> 
> _The luxury liner,_ Caspartina _remains half-sunk at the site of her accident for two days now. Though the fallout from the disaster lies unclear, private liner accidents have now inspired people to take new measures for keeping the passengers safe and dry._
> 
> _Twenty three deaths have been confirmed and seventeen people are still missing. Among the unaddressed, lies Sebastian Shaw, forty two, owner of the million dollar business empire, ‘Shaw Enterprise,’ one of the largest industries to have its branches in almost all seven continents._

 

> _...Authorities debate over the question of his death as they are still unable to arcertain the final legal status of the businessman. Suggestions have been made in favor of taking measures for_ in absentia _but Shaw’s executors are still arguing for the case to be extended…_

* * *

 

Almost a month after the “tragic” accident made to the newspapers, Erik Lehnsherr drove to the old mansion in Westchester. He still couldn’t quite comprehend his feelings about the accident. Sure, he felt indifferent about the death of his uncle –he’d like to think of it as _death_. But there were other people in that private liner. People who didn’t deserve to die.

He took a final turn and saw the huge mansion rise up to the dingy evening sky. The placard beside the gates read _‘Hellfire Manor’_ in a Victorian font. The guard nodded his introduction and let him pass with a grunt.

“What a _charming_ name!” Erik muttered to himself. As he neared the Manor, he leaned forward to take in the view. Stubborn or not, Moira was right; this place was indeed beautiful, architecturally speaking. Maybe he was even expecting something like this; he knew how exotic his uncle’s choices were.

Still, he wasn’t expecting the young, dark skinned boy to materialize in his passenger seat and casually ask him, “Where to, fella?”

Erik’s car swerved off the gravel driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d'une beauté envoutante, is a french expression, which translates to "hauntingly beautiful", I suppose. Pardon my French, I have no idea; its all google for me, guys.


	2. Chapter 2

_“If you prick us, do we not bleed?_

_If you tickle us, do we not laugh?_

_If you poison us, do we not die?_

_And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”_

_-Shakespeare, “The Merchant of Venice”_

* * *

“But I have to agree, Mr. Lehnsherr, you are very good with the car,” the caretaker had an accent, but Erik wasn’t paying attention to that. Not really. The young man in his car, he couldn’t have been real. He _couldn’t_! And yet, Erik saw him flicker to life, as if in flesh and blood.

“…it was almost as if you could control the car with your sheer will,” the man was saying, and Erik finally turned his attention away from the door –as if he was still expecting someone to walk in- and looked at the caretaker.

“Mr. Quested?” Erik asked, a bit edgy. Maybe Moira was right; he needed a break.

“Yes?”

They were sitting in the parlor, with red curtains and bronze furnishings and velvet covered highback chairs. The last rays of the sun, slanting into the room, cast a golden, ethereal hue in the room. The flowers over the ornamental fireplace looked fresh.

“It has been a pleasure to meet you, but I have to admit that I’m tired from the journey,” Erik said, putting his tea down.

“Oh yes, of course! Would you like to freshen up a bit, perhaps?” Janos Quested, caretaker of the HellFire mansion, asked in his polished accent.

“I’d like that, yes,” Erik replied, getting up. Janos followed.

“Would you at least meet the household staff, before retiring?”

“Yes. If I’m not wrong, there are six of them, including you?”

“I usually stay off premises. But yes, you are correct,” Janos said with a smile. “If you allow me five minutes, I’d gather everyone in the Salon?”

Erik nodded.

* * *

 

The Grand Salon was even larger than the parlor. Judging from the way the ceiling was decorated, Erik had a feeling that the original owners, long before his uncle, might’ve used it as a ballroom. There were three crystal chandeliers, shimmering in the soft light. A polished piano took up the far end corner. Huge mirrors decorated one wall, making the room seem larger than what it already was.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Janos’ voice caught his attention. The small household staff, comprising of two women and two men, stood neatly in a small line. Erik set aside the gawking for the next day, when he'd have a proper tour of the house.

“Please, let me have the pleasure of introducing our staff,” Janos said as Erik approached them.

“Mystique,” Janos said as Erik approached the first woman. Blonde hair, and a cheery smile. “Head housekeeper.”

There was something conspicuous about her eyes. It was as if Erik had seen them before. But then again, maybe she had that kind of face, the one that always looked familiar.

They greeted him one by one as Janos introduced them. Alex Summers; chef, Sean Cassidy; gardener, and Angel Salvador; maid. All but Sean, as Janos informed that the freckled man was mute.

“The others?” Erik asked.

“Well, Azazel, the chauffer, is out to fill up the tanks, and uh-”Janos paused. There was a flicker of uncertainty on his face, there and gone.

“My brother, um, Raven Darkholme,” Mystique piped in. “He’s the guard. The man at the gate. You must’ve met him.”

Erik recalled the red haired man at the gate. Now that he thought of it, his face did look similar to Mystique’s. The man had striking hazel eyes, but maybe that was just the lighting outside. He nodded.

“Wait,” Erik suddenly started. “That’s seven people, right Mr. Quested? Seven people; five in this room, and two absent. Right?”

“Ah! S-seven. Yes,” Janos looked unsure. “I suppose,” he muttered.

Erik looked at all the people in the room. They had this… this look of ambiguity on their faces. Erik wasn’t sure how to describe it. And suddenly, Erik registered that they all looked very young. Younger than him. Almost as young as the dark skinned man in his car.

* * *

 

“Oh no, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Janos replied when Erik asked him about his suspicions. “Maybe it is something in the air, but I can confidently assure you that the staff isn’t as young as it looks. They’ve been here for quite a while now.”

Janos was behind him, following him to the second floor. When Erik turned to ask something about the whereabouts of Azazel, he saw it again. There, _that_ look on Janos’ face again, as if he was hiding something. No, not quite like hiding something. More like, knowing more than what he was revealing. As soon as he caught Erik’s eyes though, he plastered on a bland smile.

“Can I ask you something, sir? If you don’t mind, that is,” Janos asked. Erik nodded and turned to the stairs for the third floor.

“Why are you not staying in the master suite?”

Erik had already seen the floor plans for the mansion. The master suite was the biggest room of the mansion, set in the East corner on the second floor of the main house. There were five other smaller rooms in the same floor- two in the East wing, and three bedrooms of approximately the same size in the West wing.

Erik was sure his uncle must’ve resided in the master suite. As he had told Moira before, he didn’t want to nurture any connections to his uncle. Not even sleeping on the same floor, let alone the same room, as the older man must have.

There were more bedrooms on the third floor, and Erik had decided to use one of them. The first room on the left of the stairs, precisely. This was the only room in the East wing on the third floor, with a view of the kitchen courtyard on one side, and the glass gazebo situated in the garden on the other.

“I think I’d prefer the third floor,” he said instead. “Its secluded and …just the way I want it.”

* * *

 

Erik decided to skip dinner that night. It was late already and he found that he did not have an appetite, ever since he saw that man in his car. Erik found it disturbing. Something like this had never happened to him before. Hallucinations were not his cup of tea, he explained to the ceiling, foreign to his eyes. He didn’t even recognize the face. Maybe he was more tired than what he assumed. But _why_ was this happening to him?

The ceiling did not answer him back.

He woke up at around three in the night. At first, he thought he’d heard the winds howling. But then, everything had turned quiet, as if it was just a dream. He walked to one of the windows facing the gardens. The moonlight highlighted the top of the pruned bushes and the evenly mowed lawn. There was no rustling of leaves, no sign of any winds. The white gazebo stood in one corner, petite and covered with flowers. A few of the window panes reflected off the lights from the mansion.

It was as still as death.

Then all of a sudden, he heard it again. A shrill, high pitched scream, which pierced his ears. Pressing both his palms to his ears, he knelt down to the floor, hoping the noise would stop.

When he thought he was surely done for, and his ears would start bleeding any second, the noise stopped, as abruptly as it had started. But it left him panting and dizzy. He stumbled to his feet and looked out of the window again, saw the destruction the noise had done. The glass pieces of the gazebo lay shattered around the wooden structure, shimmering like diamonds in the moonlight.

Erik squinted, trying to find the source of the siren-like screaming. It sounded like… it wasn’t human. Supersonic. Almost like a-

 _-Banshee?_ A voice in his head said.

Erik could bet on all his credibility that the voice was not his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mansion details are based on [this](http://effex.dreamwidth.org/129925.html) post. All credits to the original author, I'm just playing with toys that are not mine =)


End file.
